


Emotional Constipation

by Unforth



Series: I Dream of Deanie [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porny Plot, There's Actually a Little Plot, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I Dream of Deanie" Part 4. Increasingly, Castiel realizes that if he wants something, he has to ask, because Dean can't be trusted to express his desires clearly. Destiel PWP. Set vaguely S5ish. Continuation of "They're Good For You Heart," continued in "This Story is Definitely Not About a Date."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emotional Constipation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth story in the "I Dream of Deanie" series.
> 
> Part 1: "Can't Hold a Man's Dreams Against Him"  
> Part 2: "The First Time, Again"  
> Part 3: "They're Good For Your Heart"

“I could travel ahead and investigate,” Castiel said. The fatigue that tightened Dean’s face made Castiel nervous. No who that tired should be preparing to drive. Guilt plagued Castiel. He was primarily responsible for Dean’s exhaustion. The days in Oklahoma had been frustrating as they sought signs of a foe who kept evaporating, and Castiel had been happy – delighted – to help Dean relieve his tension late into the night. Castiel didn’t need to sleep. Dean did.

“Yeah, that’d be—” Sam started.

“Absolutely not,” interrupted Dean, scowling. Sam blinked in surprise.

“Three bodies in three days is a bad sign,” said Sam. “We can’t be there until tomorrow at the earliest. We don’t want to let the body count keep growing.”

“We don’t know that it will,” countered Dean. “Maybe all they needed is three. That’s a popular number for this ritual bullshit.” His gesture took in the photographs they had of each of three crime scenes, bodies torn to shreds, ritualistically incised and left amidst the ruins of an occult rite that the local newspaper called obscene and that neither Bobby nor Castiel recognized. Quickly, Dean gathered the pictures and threw them in his bag, completing his packing for the trip.

“That is why I should go first,” Castiel said. “If I see the entire symbol, I can narrow down who is responsible, whether it be demons, witches…” Dean’s scowl had grown so fierce that Castiel hesitated. “I do not understand. If we wait, the scenes may be damaged. Critical details may be overlooked or destroyed. Even if Bobby’s theory is correct, and it is merely foolish teenagers…” He trailed off. If Dean’s expression were any more discouraging, the hunter might try to strangle him.

“No one is scouting anything,” snapped Dean, walking purposefully towards the Impala, keys in hand. “No one is charging ahead when we have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

“But Cas can find out what we’re dealing with…” Sam started.

“No!” Dean pulled the door of the Impala open so fiercely that the hinges squealed. “It’s too dangerous.” Throwing his bag in the back seat, he slammed the door shut behind him and leaned across the front seat to unlock the passenger side. Turning back, he gave Castiel a hard stare through the window. A glimmer of light caught Dean’s eyes despite the overcast afternoon, swelled to illuminate a halo around Dean, visible to Castiel’s angelic sight even without using his tamped-down grace to detect it.

With increasing frequency, Castiel found himself stretching beyond his vessel and reaching for Dean, responding when Dean reached for him. It was alarming. Mortal souls were conditioned to respond positively to angelic grace, and the last thing that Castiel wanted was to inadvertently manipulate Dean’s soul, to force a relationship on the human that was not in his best interest. Nevertheless, it was nearly impossible for Castiel not to reciprocate when he felt Dean’s soul reach for him, as it was doing now. Allowing a small amount of himself to ebb free, Castiel blinked in wonder as Dean’s soul strained towards the angelic light. Narrowed green eyes flashed as Dean watched Castiel and lowered the window. The searing brightness of Dean’s essence pulsed in time to Dean’s heartbeat and Castiel’s grace automatically reacted in kind. The hunter’s soul curled up and basked in the light like a cat in a sunlit window. Castiel blinked, bemused.

“Cas, you comin’?”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked around the Impala, hair swaying about his ears in a sudden breeze. “What the hell, dude?” he said. Anything further he said was cut off as he got in the passenger side and closed his door.

Grace stretched like the fingers of a hand to sooth the perennially troubled soul, and the two lights entwined, both bright, nearly indistinguishable yet subtly different. It wouldn’t violate any creeds to heal the hunter’s fatigue. It would not be too much intimacy. It didn’t cross any lines. Allowing Dean’s soul and Castiel’s grace to interact so freely was unorthodox, and presented dangers, but as long as Castiel was careful – as he’d always been careful – it would be alright. The soul stretched in the heat of angelic grace and flickered with black flecks like confetti. Castiel had succored Dean’s wounds many times, had done far more when he’d raised Dean from Hell. If Dean drove to Idaho while exhausted, he’d be in danger. Healing his fatigue protected him. As long as Castiel didn’t continue to allow their light to mesh, as long as he didn’t continue to let Dean’s soul lull him with lullabies, as long as he stopped leaving lingering traces of his grace behind, he could help with Dean’s tiredness.

Only the fatigue. Only the tiredness. Only enough to make sure that Dean would be safe driving 18 hours. That was all Castiel was allowed to touch. None of the other hurts, none of the sorrow and guilt and loneliness. As thin strands of angelic magic tended to the tenuous, fatigued strain of the hunter’s dazzling soul, Castiel fought off the unmistakable urge to do more. Tending to Dean’s psychological wounds was barely different than washing away Dean’s tiredness. Dean would never know. The fatigue was gone as if it had never been, the black speckles faded to nothing, and Dean was as well as he could be. Manipulating humans souls was something too many angels did unthinkingly as a matter of course. Castiel wouldn’t force his grace on anyone, not even Dean, not even when Castiel perceived himself to be working in Dean’s best interest. It wasn’t for Castiel to decide what was best for Dean. Only Dean could do that. How Dean coped with his pain – even when he chose not to cope with his pain – was a critical, inherent part of the man that he was. Castiel would never take that from him.

“Earth to Cas,” snapped Dean. “Get in the damn car. You are _not_ going to Samaria alone.” With difficulty, Castiel forced himself away from the endearing, well-loved glow. It felt like losing a part of himself. That wasn’t right. Dean was not a part of him. Castiel could never ask that of Dean.

“Dear Lord, who art in heaven” a prayer in a tired old voice, crinkling with age, reached Castiel’s ears.

“I have to go,” Castiel said aloud.

“Lemme guess,” Dean rolled his eyes with a wry grin. “Stubbed toes. Lost puppy.” He paused. “No, no, got it, coming through loud and clear—” He winked and grinned. “Cat up a tree. Fireman Cas to the rescue.”

“Her granddaughter is dying,” said Castiel, trying to find the humor to smile at the jokes in light of the supplication he had received. “All she has asked is that the girl live long enough to receive the act of charity being arranged for her by the Make a Wish Foundation. What is that?”

Leaning over Dean to join in the conversation, Sam gave Castiel a hang-dog look. “Wow. That’s rough.”

“Now I feel like shit,” agreed Dean. “Thanks, Cas.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, feeling suddenly exhausted. Such requests should not be his responsibility. God should be listening, should be helping as He once had. It wasn’t fair to mankind that they be abandoned at such times of need. There was little enough Castiel could do, but he could show up. He could try. “It was not my intention to cause you remorse.”

“Dude,” Dean exclaimed. “Seriously. Making it worse. Just get your sexy butt over there, and you can make it up to me later.”

“Sexy...butt...?” Sam echoed incredulously.

“Yeah, about that...” Dean’s voice became awkward, and Castiel realized that helping a child dying of leukemia was a less intimidating prospect than remaining present for the conversation between the brothers.

“What do you mean ‘make it up to me later?’ ” Sam’s voice hit the male equivalent of shrill.

“Blow jobs, Sammy,” snapped Dean. “Mutual fucking masturbation. Hot, mano-a-mano homo-rotica sex. What the fuck else would I mean?”

Castiel fled.

The child was going to live. Castiel’s semi-ostracized status meant he had some leeway in how he decided to answer prayers, and in this case he “encouraged” several people compatible with the child to donate to the bone marrow registry, and sped their applications, and helped the child’s doctor find the match. No sooner was he done than another prayer came through, a request for water in the midst of a drought in Kenya. It had only been four or five hours since he’d left the brothers. Sam and Dean likely needed a great deal of time to talk, or they needed very little. Either way, the prospect of returning to the Impala was mortifying and disconcerting. Surely, there was nothing he could contribute. Someone in Antarctica half-jokingly prayed for warmth. Not normally the sort of thing Castiel would answer, but anything to prolong his absence. He’d meet them in Idaho, obeying Dean’s injunction not to go ahead. Maybe give them a few days. No, that would never do, the thought of not being close to Dean for so long, not feeling the hunter’s soul, left him queasy, but a day was not unreasonable.

Answering every request he heard whispered desperately into the silence of the angelic communication matrix, Castiel worried that he was growing too close to Dean. They’d never spoken about having a relationship, not beyond Dean’s rejection of the idea that it was a relationship. They’d never discussed what they were doing together. Action had taken precedent over conversation. Since Castiel was honoring his intention of not invading Dean’s mental privacy, he had only the barest idea what Dean actually thought of their interactions. However, Dean was talking to Sam about whatever it was Dean and Castiel had. That counted for something.

A sense of urgent need reached out wordlessly, not to Castiel’s father, not to any generic angel who might be listening, but to Castiel specifically. Dean’s soul, aflame, so powerful and bright that Castiel could sense it from across continents, pulled at him, frightened him. Such outreach should not be possible. Castiel’s fears solidified in an instant. He was allowing Dean’s soul too much interaction with his grace, giving it too much strength, risking binding them too closely. He’d have to be more careful going forward, but at a time like this he was glad of it, for it meant he knew instantly that Dean was in danger, without even requiring that the hunter pray for Castiel to aid him. With a stretch of his wings, Castiel closed the space between them, drawn instantly to Idaho.

Castiel materialized with his hand under his trench coat, fingers wrapped around his angel blade, crouched low and ready for any threat. The motel room in which he appeared was clean and well kept, though the mountain theme was taken a bit far. The walls were painted with snow-capped landscapes and the carpeting and blankets were sienna. No obvious threat awaited him, which only increased his wariness. There were no salt lines in place and none of Dean’s regular defenses were set up. Dean was not in sight, but Castiel could sense that the hunter was close. Dusk showed through a completely unprotected, unwarded window, curtains not even drawn. Eyes narrowing, Castiel drew his sword.

“Shit,” snapped Dean, emerging from the bathroom. His hand instantly went to his gun and he dropped to a squat. “What’s here, Cas? We got trouble?”

“You called me,” Cas replied with concentrated intensity. He stretched out his senses. Dean flared instantly like a supernova beside him, reaching hungrily for Castiel’s grace, and Castiel only barely evaded the unexpected lunge towards magical intimacy. The next lifeform he detected was Sam, roiling his usual unquiet purple and black 22.5 feet away. Beyond that, he sensed mortals, regular people, old and young, healthy and unhealthy, nothing to alarm him within a half mile. Frowning, he reached further, but found no one unusual.

“No, I didn’t,” Dean drew the gun carefully, silently. “Something else must have. Shit, what could do that – make you think it was me, lure you here?”

“Nothing could,” Castiel reached further. Dean was so bright alongside him that it cast a pall over his sight. If they faced witches, that might explain why he didn’t sense them, but even a witch couldn’t emulate Dean’s soul. All human souls were unique, and Dean’s was the most remarkable, most singular that Castiel had ever encountered. Only the righteous man, imprisoned in Hell and rescued by the hands of an angel, felt that way. Only Dean’s soul bore the irreproducible hallmarks of contact with Castiel’s grace, only his body bore Castiel’s hand print. “It was definitely you, Dean.”

With a groan, Dean slumped back against the door to the bathroom, holstering his gun as he did. Confused, Castiel looked at him askance. “My bad,” said Dean with a cocked grin. “I was just...thinking.”

“You were masturbating in the bathroom?” said Castiel with a frown. He understood what delays like that meant in human speech, that they suggested that Dean was using one word when he meant another, and he was too concerned to make a game of the subtle hint.

“Dude! No!” Dean ran a hand through his hair in obvious embarrassment and slid to his butt on the floor. “Thinking. Actually fucking thinking.” Dean hesitated. Increasingly sure his alarm was uncalled for, Castiel sheathed his blade, keeping a hand on the hilt all the while. “I got us our own room.” His gesture took in the lamps made of raw-looking clay, the painting of the Rockies mounted over the bed, the room divider composed of fake barbed wire.

“You talked to Sam?”

“You could call it that,” muttered Dean. Castiel quirked his head further to the side, curious. The gorgeous hunter bent his lips into an exaggerated frown and continued in the mocking voice he used when he was imitating his brother. “ ‘Dean, what the fuck? You’re starting this _now_? What about the last year and a half? I just assumed blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.’ ”

“...Why would Sam say ‘blah blah blah?’ ” asked Castiel with genuine confusion. “Is he ill? I’ve heard of several cases of witches being responsible for aphasia, though demons can cause it as well, and in special circumstances, so can contact with an angel. I am increasingly inclined to think we may be dealing with a coven, Dean. This is potentially a very serious situation...” He trailed off, catching the glitter of amusement in Dean’s eyes.

“Oh, keep going, I’m taking you extremely seriously,” Dean nodded encouragingly, lips breaking into an irresistible grin.

“What did Sam actually say?” Castiel said with resignation. He filed away “blah” as something he would have to investigate. Thinking about it, he did recall that it could mean “dull” or “uninteresting.” Perhaps repeating the word as Dean had was a means of communicating that Sam had proceeded to bore Dean? That interpretation seemed unlikely, given the import of the conversation and Dean’s fundamental love and respect for his brother, but it wouldn’t be the first time that Castiel had seen that love and respect take a form that he would not have anticipated.

“We have our own room, Cas,” Dean repeated by way of a reply.

“Are you and Sam arguing? I have no desire to be a source of discord between the two of you,” said Castiel, feeling a tremor of concern.

“Look, can you just, I don’t know, leave, and come back through the door, and start all this shit over again without the tension?” Dean surged to his feet, ruffling his hair again, strands going in all directions in a way that, inexplicably, Castiel’s mind assigned the word “delicious” to.

“Are _we_ arguing?” asked Castiel, even more confused. Dean paced the room agitatedly.

“No!” Dean rounded on him. “Fuck. No. No one is arguing with anyone. No one is angry with anyone. Sam’s pissy because he thinks I dicked you over by making you wait two fucking years. You’re...whatever the fuck you are. And I...” Dean couldn’t have closed the space between them faster had he wings and the ability to teleport. A firm arm snapped up and locked onto the back of Castiel’s head and Dean owned Castiel’s lips, aggressively pressed their mouths together, enveloped Castiel and sucked at the tender flesh. Equal parts pain and pleasure scattered distractingly through Castiel’s thoughts. Dean growled low in his throat and worked with bruising strength, and Castiel stood, shocked still by Dean’s words, barely able to reciprocate Dean’s affectionate behavior due to his relief and burgeoning lust. Hesitantly, Dean pulled away, concern tightening his eyes, though his hand nestled deeper amidst the tufts of Castiel’s hair.

“This okay, Cas?” Dean’s voice was weak with uncertainty.

How the _hell_ could he still be so unsure of Castiel’s desires?

Breathless, Castiel blurted out the words that had consumed him completely since they had emerged from Dean’s lips. “Are you going to ‘dick me over’ now?” They’d pleasured each other with mouths and hands, rubbed and rutted naked and clothed, but they had yet to replicate the penetrative sex of Castiel’s djinn dream. While Dean at times seemed interested, when the moment came to initiate such interactions, it never seemed to be the direction they went in. Dean didn’t seek it, and Castiel already felt he’d pushed Dean into intimacy and thus was reluctant to ask for more. He had learned his lesson on confusing reality with his fantasies.

Throwing his head back, Dean laughed, a sound like storm clouds clearing and a bright sun emerging from the dark. The sound was too glorious for Castiel to worry overmuch that he wasn’t sure what he’d said that was so funny. A bemused smile lit his face. Dean’s laughter cut off abruptly as he caught Castiel’s eyes, swallowed, and his pupils spread black, enveloping gold-flecked green. “You’re serious?” Dean asked. The fingers still resting on Castiel’s head flexed, pressing into Castiel’s scalp, spreading strange, soothing tension at every touch. Castiel leaned into Dean’s body and kissed him, and this time it was Dean who hardly moved in response, Dean whose lips parted easily before a questing tongue, Dean whose eyes rolled shut with pleasure. “Fuck, Cas,” he whispered in the wake of the kiss. “You don’t mean that.”

Castiel kissed him again, delighting in the earthy flavor of Dean’s mouth, striving to communicate with his tongue and lips how much he wished Dean to relax and accept Castiel’s affection. “Yes, I do,” Castiel said with confidence.

Dean swallowed yet again, his most endearing tell when he was flustered and shy. Dean’s cheeks were lightly flushed, giving a pink cast to the skin tanned brown, and his eyes were wider than normal, his mouth flat with uncertainty. His hand fell away from Castiel’s head, much to Castiel’s irritation, and Dean stepped back, opening a chasm of space between them with only a couple of feet. “What exactly do you think that phrase means?” Unconsciously, one of Dean’s hand went to his crotch, adjusting himself in his pants. Castiel stared at the movement hungrily, then lifted his eyes to see Dean watching him, licking his lips.

In all the millennia of Castiel’s existence, he could never recall a time that being vague had been a more effective means of getting what he wanted than being direct was. Now that events had led him to the point where the issue was already broached, the risk was already taken, he might as well be blunt.

“I would like to have anal intercourse with you, Dean.”

“Right,” muttered Dean, running his hand through his hair again. His other hand settled on his hip. He circled away from Castiel, massaging his temples, eyes gazing upwards towards the room ceiling painted with blue sky and gray clouds. “It...it doesn’t mean that.”

Uncertainty settled unpleasantly in Castiel’s gut, battling with arousal. Despite all his resolutions to the contrary, he let his grace tentatively explore Dean’s feelings, outreach to Dean’s soul.

Breathtakingly amazing, Dean was incandescent with desire, practically neon with lust, and haloed by the brightness. For all of Dean’s external reticence, inside, he was definitely interested. Castiel’s grace synchronized with Dean’s soul, two heart beats united by one thought.

With a groan, Dean rounded and enveloped him even as Castiel’s grace attempted to do the same to Dean’s soul. The hunter’s soft, rough lips sucked at Castiel’s neck, his arms slipped beneath Castiel’s trench coat and jacket to palm at the muscles of his back, and their chests pressed together. The contact was electric, angelic power coursing through Castiel intoxicatingly until he had to act. Castiel could not contain all within his vessel, could not allow himself to encase Dean’s soul protectively and never let him go. Grace reinforced the strength of his arms as he returned Dean’s embrace, fingers digging in at the top of Dean’s spine and cupping his buttocks. Grace rushed through the room, sweeping the curtains closed, tossing the blankets aside, causing the bathroom door to creak and sway. Grace crackled like lightning across Castiel’s lips as he rocked into Dean’s body, thrummed through his erection, forced through his teeth as a moan that glowed faintly in the musty dim light. Oblivious to the disturbances, Dean’s breath was hot and humid against his skin as he sucked a painful red mark onto Castiel’s skin. Powerful muscles tensed and bulged as Dean strove to bring their bodies even closer. Reveling in hard flesh pressed against his, Castiel massaged and rubbed Dean’s back. Small moans escaped his lips at the feel Dean’s mouth on his neck. Castiel didn’t move until he felt in control of his magic again, until Dean’s soul had calmed, and until his grace was safely restrained once more within his vessel.

Breathing hard, Dean lay his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder. The timing of his movement made Castiel wonder, for the first time, how much Dean was aware of the metaphysical interaction between grace and soul. Hands pressing into his sides obliterated the thought before he could consider it more thoroughly.

“This really what you want, Cas?” Dean’s words reeked of self-doubt, but his hands acted as if with a mind of their own. They ghosted to Castiel’s waistline, untucked Castiel’s shirt. Dean opened space between them and his fingers nimbly worked up the line of buttons, undoing them slowly and caressing the soft flesh of Castiel’s belly, the firm muscles of his abdomen, as he went. The soothing touch forced longing, guttural sounds from deep within Castiel, and Dean shuddered at the sound. His shaking hands settled over Castiel’s breasts, roughly palming his nipples to tightness.

“I want you, Dean,” said Castiel roughly, emphasizing the point by tracing his hands along the muscles of Dean’s lower back and hips. There was a subtle shift in Dean’s body language, a sense of Dean’s head nodding slightly against Castiel’s shoulder.

“ ‘Course you do,” the smirk was audible in Dean’s voice. So was self-loathing, cockiness, and a gravelly tone of seduction. Dean looked up and gave Castiel an arrogant grin to match the voice. “I’m a _beast_ in the sack.” Shocked, Castiel stepped back and tried to figure out what had just happened, what had changed, without cheating and sensing Dean’s thoughts. “This is _exactly_ why I keep lube in the room prep bag. There’s room prep – and then there’s room prep.”

“You’ve kept lubricant in your duffel because you anticipated having anal sex with me?” Castiel frowned, troubled. Dean wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, the hunter shook off Castiel’s embrace and turned to where he’d tossed his bag at the foot of the bed and squatted beside it, heavy things clattering as he searched within.

“I keep lube in the prep bag in case I have a chance to get laid, man,” Dean withdrew the bottle from the bag with a wide, plastered-on smile.

“I am not a one night stand, Dean,” said Castiel. Slowly, he took his trench coat off, removed his jacket, tie, and unbuttoned shirt. Castiel accidentally brushed one of his nipples as he worked, and the tightness left in the wake of Dean’s touch drove a shiver through his body and a spike of heat to his gut. Attempting to appear impassive and unalarmed, he watched Dean and waited to see what he would do. Dean tossed aside a pistol, a crow bar and a silver knife and withdrew a small, clear bottle of lubricant without any appearant satisfaction in the discovery.

“What part of ‘we have our own room’ made you think I thought we were?” Dean tried to sound casual, but there was a snap to his words, and he slammed the bottle of lubricant onto the night stand hard enough to make the lamp rattle.

“Look at me,” Castiel ordered. Reluctantly, Dean did, giving Castiel a sidelong, disingenuous glance. “If you do not wish to do this, then we will not do this.” There was no change in Dean’s glower. That wasn’t the problem. “You do wish to do this.” Dean flinched slightly. A sigh escaped Castiel. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I’m trying to, Dean. Perhaps we should put the lubricant away and attempt to speak about whatever is troubling you.” 

“Sammy says I’m emotionally constipated,” Dean muttered apologetically. “Look, Cas. If you want this, I want this.”

“No,” said Castiel, repressing exasperation. “No, I have no interest in you engaging in sexual pursuits simply to gratify me. If you are not as invested as I am, it will not be enjoyable.”

“That there? Flat out untrue,” Dean chuckled, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and patting the tousled blankets to encourage Castiel to join him. Worried, Castiel did so. “Anyone who has ever fucked anyone has done shit that didn’t interest them because they knew it would ‘gratify’ their partner.” Dean’s reticence remained, eyes tight, but he met Castiel’s expression with a wry, open look.

“Have you done things merely for my sake?” Castiel asked. Dean didn’t answer, looking away. “I didn’t think so. Do not try to change the subject. What did I say that...?” Castiel trailed off. He knew exactly what he’d said. _I want you, Dean_. “Dean, when I said that I wanted you, what did you think I meant?”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “You were pretty fucking clear, Cas. Some good ol’ deep dickin’.” No one so strong, so broad, so resilient, should look so vulnerable. It made Castiel’s heart ache, and he repressed the desire to sooth that beautiful, aching soul.

Reaching out, Castiel laid his hands on Dean’s cheeks and forced him to raise his eyes, to bring that gorgeous green into focus on Castiel’s face. “Dean, I want _you_. I do not simply wish to engage in intercourse. I wish to engage in intercourse _with you_. Not a one night stand. Not any stranger. I do not merely want your body. That is not all that you are, not to me, not even when we are pleasuring each other.” The longer Castiel spoke, the wider Dean’s eyes grew, the greener they became. He gave a faint shake of his head, trying to force Castiel to let him go, trying to break eye contact, but Castiel allowed a fragment of his grace free, suffusing his eyes with blue, giving Dean’s soul the merest calming brush. “I want Dean Winchester, _the_ Dean Winchester, with the soul that glows and calls to mine from across the world because he is thinking of me. The man who pretends to be confident even as he is deeply injured by the possibility that I might be interested in only his body. The man who is made so uncomfortable by the things that I am saying right now that he is struggling with all his might to break free. The man who...”

Practically leaping forward, Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s, knocking him back against the mattress. Strong arms fenced Castiel in, Dean’s chest held him down even as the mattress springs tried to bounce him back up. Dean’s kiss was a gentle contrast to the force of his movement, lips working against Castiel’s, tongue teasing, tantalizingly ignoring Castiel’s invitation to go further, to enter Castiel’s mouth. Tentatively, Castiel reached out with his own tongue, and they curled around each other, teasing, light touches and quick brushes and sensual licks. Dean held eye contact all the while, even as Castiel let his grace die down again, and Castiel had the gratification of watching Dean’s pupils slowly expand with desire as the kiss escalated to such an intensity of feeling that it left Castiel breathless and he was forced to break contact, gasping.

“Are you done talking about me in the third person now?” Dean’s voice was low and rough and thick with desire. Shifting to lean on one of his elbows, Dean trailed the other hand down Castiel’s side and undid Castiel’s belt. He whispered another kiss against Castiel’s lips, ignoring the pleading whimper that escaped Castiel when that wonderful mouth moved away. “Sorry I freaked. Sometimes I forget you’re...you. You’re...what you are...who you are.” Quirking an eyebrow at the comment, Castiel slipped his fingers under the edge of Dean’s t-shirt and insistently tugged it up. Obliging him, Dean sat up, and Castiel followed and drew the shirt over Dean’s head. Dean’s expression was pained, more words looked like they were struggling to win free, but were unable to do so. Perhaps that was what “emotional constipation” meant, Castiel reflected.

“It upsets me that after everything we have been through and everything we’ve done, you are able to forget that I am me,” Castiel murmured. He settled his hands on Dean’s waist, encouraging him to remain resting on his knees, and he took Dean’s nipple in his mouth, running over it repeatedly with wide strokes of his tongue, enjoying the way it hardened and tightened at his attentions. Dean let out a pleasured sigh. “I shall have to work harder to remind you and ensure that we avoid such confusion in the future.” He lapped at the other nipple experimentally, tasting the salty tang of sweat on his lips.

“I never want you to look at me with regret,” Dean breathed.  

Castiel snagged the nipple with his teeth, forcing a whimper from Dean, before he drew away. Breathing hard, he looked up at Dean patiently, waited until Dean looked down and their eyes met. “There is not a single thing about my relationship with you that I regret, Dean.” Tears flooded those green eyes, and Dean arched down and kissed Castiel reverently. One kiss turned into two, into five, into a continuous movement of lips against lips, breaking apart for air only to come back together, every kiss slow and deliberate and tender, building on the one before. Their lips rubbed close, their tongues danced, and Dean slowly guided Castiel back down to the bed, settling between Castiel’s legs.

Making love to Dean was usually rough, urgent, needy, desperate. Castiel wanted, he craved, an emptiness between his legs pulsed and throbbed in time to the slight twitches of Dean’s hips. However, Dean moved with thoughtful, slow care and refused to be rushed. Hands moved gently over hard planes and slight curves. Castiel lost himself in the intensity of the heat in his mouth. A kiss had always seemed like a preliminary to something else, but now it was a sexual experience all its own. With a gentle nip, Dean drew redness to Castiel’s lips, made them tender and sensitive, and then licked them soothingly, gently worked his mouth over Castiel’s top lip, his bottom lip, sucked at Castiel’s tongue. Sighing vocally into the contact, Castiel followed Dean’s lead, mimicking each movement, small ruts into Dean’s hips amplified by the bounce of the bed.

The skin of their chests rubbed together, their nipples brushed with a burst of tingling roughness, and Dean choked a grunt into Castiel’s open mouth. Dean’s breath was delicious, wood smoke and hickory and more that Castiel couldn’t place. He wanted to drink it in and identify every flavor, wanted to taste it in his mouth forever. Before he realized it, his tongue was deep within Dean’s, lapping at the ridges of his palate, tracing along the molars and teeth. Dean’s lips never stopped working on his, but he relented to allow Castiel to experiment and explore. Sucking in Dean’s saliva, Castiel let it suffuse his mouth, his nose, his body, let himself grow drunk on it. He moaned slightly as he withdrew, and Dean broke off the kiss and chuckled. Castiel mewled to find the wet heat gone from his mouth, lips tingling and cold in Dean’s absence. The deprivation felt profound, and in reaction, his hips rose to rub more firmly against Dean, some part of Castiel’s brain concluding that if he could not have Dean’s tongue buried between his lips, he had to hasten the penetration of Dean’s wonderful cock between his cheeks. The thought sent a jolt like lightning through his entire body and he arched against Dean and groaned.

Mouthing at the edge of Castiel’s lips, licking at his stubble, Dean murmured. “What’d you just imagine, Cas? I’ll give it to you.”

“You know what I want, Dean.”

Dean breathed a heady, faint sound against Castiel’s cheek and then kissed and nipped along the line of Castiel’s chin, along the curve of his neck, at the base of his ear, sucking at the sensitive lobe, mouthing at the delicate places behind.

“You sure?” Dean asked hoarsely. 

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel ran a suggestive hand down Dean’s spine and slipped it beneath the waist of his pants, rubbing at the rise of his gorgeous butt.

“I want to make you feel so good, Cas,” Dean vowed breathily in his ear.

“You will,” Castiel drew the hand around to Dean’s front, wriggling it between their bodies. “You always do.” Fumblingly, he undid the button on Dean’s jeans and lowered Dean’s fly. Boxer-clad hardness brushed against his hand, and Castiel moaned his excited expectations to the sky-painted ceiling as Dean swallowed a groan at the contact. Damp pre-come made a wet spot on the cloth.

Castiel could feel the grin on Dean’s lips as he feathered kisses down Castiel’s neck, along his clavicle, down to his nipple. Dean spared a brief lick for the taut nub, then slid down Castiel’s body, trailing kisses and sucking taunts along Castiel’s muscles. Beneath Dean’s attention, Castiel quivered with the unspoken promise of gratification, the heat of the kisses spawning an urgency in Castiel’s gut. Every brush of Dean’s mouth coursed through him, and his erection twitched and bobbed and pled for attention that Dean pointedly did not grant. If Dean felt the growing desperation, it didn’t show. He continued to move slowly, lazily, lavishing attention along the bottom of Castiel’s ribs, fingers sluggish as he unbuttoned Castiel’s pants and lowered the zipper. Castiel’s mind instantly spun out fantasies, convinced that at any moment, the aggressive, domineering Dean he was used to would appear, surge into him, press him into the mattress and take him. Every moment that Dean continued to move with tenderness built Castiel’s conviction, stoked a fire within him that consumed every thought but need. Feeling like his movements were completely involuntary, he clutched at Dean’s head and tried to urge him faster, but Dean ignored him. He writhed against the sheets simply to feel any friction against his skin. The feeling brought enough relief to grant him cognizance of his own actions, and he realized he was growling out an urgent plea, “please, Dean, please, I want you, please, I want you...” He was powerless to stop the flow of words.

Fingers caught at Castiel’s belt loops, and without speeding up, Dean shimmied down the bed, pulling Castiel’s trousers down as he went. Dean’s mouth trailed along Castiel’s skin as it was exposed, breath ruffling through the trail of hair leading down to Castiel’s crotch, tracing the strong line of his hip, bypassing Castiel’s aching erection completely. Castiel moaned and hitched his hips, but Dean didn’t react. Instead, he paused to suck a bruise into the delicate skin of Castiel’s inner thigh, fingers circling Castiel’s knees, nails tickling at the backs of them. A shiver shook Castiel from shoulder to ankle. Fingers feeling awkward, Castiel groped towards himself, but Dean casually brushed Castiel’s hand away, and Castiel didn’t try again, instead tangling his hands in the sheets and rutting against cool, dry, unsatisfying air.

“Please, Dean, touch me, please, I need this, please don’t make me wait, please...”

It was a lifetime before Dean’s mouth reached Castiel’s knee and licked teasingly at the same spot against which he had scraped his nails. At the same time, Dean freed Castiel’s pants, snagged Castiel’s shoes and socks in one easy movement, and tossed the lot aside. That done, Dean leaned back, looking far too calm as he surveyed Castiel’s naked, overwrought body. Dean’s chest rose and fell rapidly, but otherwise he was only a little flushed, and only the bulge that peaked out through his unzipped jeans showed that he was aroused at all. That, and the liquid black dilation of his pupils.

“Dean, gorgeous Dean, please!”

“Look at you,” Dean practically purred, and Castiel was reminded powerfully of the cat-like way Dean’s soul had basked in Castiel’s grace the previous day. As if in response to Castiel’s thought, Dean’s soul burst out like solar flares from the ever-burning corona, faded to shimmer through them both like an aurora. The brush of it against Castiel’s grace made him shiver and moan, erotic in an entirely different, but no less enticing, way. “Flushed and waiting for me. Hard and leaking without me even _touching_ your dick.” Casually, Dean reached behind himself and snagged the lubricant from the bed stand without so much as glancing that way. Castiel leaked a heady sigh at the sight. If lubricant was involved, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

“…I can’t wait, please, Dean…”

On hands and knees, Dean crawled back atop him, the denim of his jeans rubbing on the over-sensitized skin of Castiel’s thighs, rough against his erection. Every touch brought a burst of light behind Castiel’s eyes, caused a pulse of electricity through his barely-restrained grace. There was a liquid squelch as Dean squeezed lubricant onto his hand. Dean filled his vision, laying over him, holding him against the bed. Castiel’s anticipation was so great that every motion Dean made caused him to twitch, wondering if this was finally the moment that he would feel what he yearned for. Instead, Dean resumed his intimate, tender kisses, and Castiel struggled to meet him with equanimity. The kisses felt good, but he’d been promised so much more, needed so much more.

“Please, Dean,” he breathed in between gentle nips and caresses. “Please.”

Dean huffed a faint groan against Castiel’s throat, kissing and licking at the sweat beginning to gather at the nape of Castiel’s neck. “You’re so perfect right now,” Dean murmured. “You have no idea, do you? So...fucking...gorgeous...” A slick finger pressed against Castiel’s tight hole, and Castiel moaned and tried to shift beneath Dean’s weight, but he couldn’t. The hunter had him completely pinned to the mattress. The touch trailed away, leaving nothing but moisture and memory and tingling and desperation, and Castiel whimpered, spreading his legs wider in encouragement. “You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, Cas.”

“Dean, please, please...” There was a faint scrape of a nail against the wrinkled pucker. “Please!”

A finger filled Castiel to the knuckle, all at once, hard and fast, glorious pressure and a spurt of pained delight. Castiel groaned hugely and thrashed beneath Dean. “Shhhh,” Dean whispered soothingly. “I’ve got you, Cas.” The calmness of his tone was incongruous with Castiel’s ever-growing need, the ever-increasing throbbing pain of his erection, his surging longing to feel Dean thrust into him. Unmoving within Castiel, Dean shifted his hips to rub rough cloth against desperate skin. Dean’s kisses resumed despite Castiel’s continued gasps and moans, despite Castiel’s efforts to induce Dean to thrust into him.

“Move, Dean, please, move, I want so much more, so much...”

“I’m gonna give it to you,” promised Dean. “Bu, God help me, I love watching you fall apart and beg me for it.” Even Dean’s voice was sex, so deep, so rough, coursing through Castiel’s blood like sparks. The moment stretched out, and then Dean fulfilled his vow. It was a slight pumping within Castiel, barely anything, but Castiel was so frantic with _want_ that it felt immense. He strained for more, finding no satiation in the wonderful feeling of friction, of liquid spreading within him, of heat and bulk. Dean shifted over him, brought a hand up to cup Castiel’s cheek and drew back. Dean wore a lazy, pleased smile, and his eyes were completely blown with lust. “You want a second finger Cas?”

“I want your _dick_ , Dean!”

“So you don’t want a second finger?” Dean’s movements stopped abruptly, Dean’s hips preventing Castiel from chasing that essential in and out motion, pressing the heat of Dean’s dick against Castiel’s thigh. “My bad. Guess you’re good just like this.”

“Dean!” Castiel placed an insistent hand on Dean’s butt, urging him to move, urging him to do anything, but Dean gave a ‘tsk’ and shook his head. The digit embedded in Castiel didn’t even twitch, and Castiel felt like he was on the verge of tears. “Please.”

“Take it or leave it, Cas.”

“Give it to me, please...even just one finger, anything, but please, move!”

Dean’s head dropped and he slid a second finger inside of Castiel to the accompaniment of Castiel’s grateful sobs. Dean’s motions were the same as they had been, slow and deliberate, slight and teasing, and Castiel forced himself to stillness, forced himself to be satisfied lest Dean stop again. Suddenly, Dean drew nearly all the way out and thrust in hard, and Castiel’s entire body spasmed, fireworks erupting in his head. “Yeah,” echoed Dean with a groan of his own. “Cas, I wanna fuck you so bad. You’re gonna be so good for me, but you are so fucking tight it scares me. I don’t wanna hurt you, Cas – never want to hurt you.”

“Please, Dean, please, more.”

There was sweat on Dean’s forehead now, matching the liquid that Castiel could feel dripping into his hair and streaking trails along his face. The two fingers thrust in and out hard, driving all the way to the knuckle each time. Each was mirrored by a hitch of Castiel’s hips, and a roll that rutted Dean’s dick against Castiel’s thigh and brushed rough cloth over Castiel’s desperate hardness. No more play, no more delay: the look on Dean’s face was intense with concentration and his fingers spread as well as thrust, separating within Castiel to push on the constricted muscles in his body. In some corner of Castiel’s mind still barely processing information, he realized that what he’d thought was teasing had served a purpose, that Dean was making sure that Castiel’s virgin hole was ready for the intrusion of Dean’s fair-sized dick. The frustration of being goaded faded into love and appreciation for Dean’s respect for the needs of Castiel’s body, and he moaned long and gravelly at Dean’s efforts.

With a groan, Dean rose and settled onto his knees between Castiel’s legs, struggling to fit a third finger into Castiel’s body. “God, you’re tight,” Dean grunted. “If I can’t...Cas...if I can’t do three fingers, I can’t...not yet...not gonna risk hurting you.” A surge of thwarted desire washed through Castiel and Dean whimpered at the pressure compressing his fingers. “You gotta relax, man.”

Dean stopped.

Each breath felt like an eternity without what he needed, but Castiel knew that Dean would be true to his word, would not continue if Castiel’s body was unable to accommodate Dean without causing Castiel injury. It was one of the things that Castiel loved about Dean, his gentleness, his solicitousness, all that kindness and generosity masked beneath a rough, aggressive, devil-may-care exterior. Taking a shaky breath, Castiel forced his heart rate under control. Another breath, and he quelled the shaking in his arms. Hovering over him, Dean waited, unmoving save for deep, vocal breaths. Another breath, and Castiel stilled his straining hips. Another, and he blinked away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes. Another, and another, and another, until Castiel’s body calmed, until the hum of heat and longing within him was stifled to a controlled burn instead of a blazing, all-consuming bonfire.

Gently, Dean shifted his hand, breaking into a relieved grin as he found Castiel’s muscles unclenched. The tip of a third finger successfully breached the first powerful ring of Castiel’s entryway, and Dean chortled, practically a giggle. Retrieving the lubricant bottle from where he’d left it nearby on the bed, Dean squeezed more slicking liquid onto his fingers before he carefully filled Castiel with all three. Castiel moaned with satisfaction and raised himself into the contact, letting his eyes slip shut.

“You okay, Cas?”

“I’m very well, Dean,” he murmured truthfully. All sense disappeared save for Dean’s intrusion within his body and the heavy, desperate weight of his untouched cock, an anchor of urgent reality between his legs. With the world gone, with the kisses gone, with Dean’s tantalizing breath gone, with Dean’s rough chest no longer abrading Castiel’s flushed skin, Castiel no longer felt like he was on the verge of breaking apart. Dean’s movements were gentle, and Castiel rocked into each smooth thrust. “How do you feel?”

Dean choked on a laugh. “Like I’m going to come in pants if I don’t get to feel you around me.” Groaning, Castiel bore down on the fingers buried within him. “Fuck, Cas,” breathed Dean.

There was another squirting sound of lubricant, but Castiel kept his eyes closed, trying to maintain placid calm in the face of all the desire coiled within him. It was the only way he’d get to feel what he truly wanted. Nonetheless, Castiel’s thoughts couldn’t help but try to interpret each squelch, each rustle, each smack of flesh on flesh. His body began to seize up. “No,” he whispered.

“I’ll stop,” Dean said instantly, freezing.

“No!” Castiel exclaimed. “No, that’s not what I...I’m trying to ease my body, I’m trying, Dean.”

“I know you are, you fucking _perfect_ angel,” Dean huffed a low groan. “If we can’t do this today, I fucking _swear_ we will try again soon.”

There was no stopping the rise and fall of Castiel’s hips as they met Dean’s fingers. There was no stopping the twitching throb of his cock, the milky dripping of pre-release from the tip and down his length. There was no stopping his heart rate beginning to speed up, his breath hitching. There was no stopping the lust-crazed whisper in Castiel’s mind that repeated over and over again, _Dean’s going to fill me, Dean’s going to fill me, Dean’s going to fill me, Dean’s going..._ “...to fill me, Dean’s going to fill me, Dean’s going to fill me, Dean’s going to...”

“Fuck.”

The fingers were removed from Castiel’s behind in a single swift motion, Dean’s weight shifted, their bodies bobbed on the springy mattress, and there was a heavy weight and empty need between Castiel’s legs.

“...going to...”

“Fuck, Cas.”

The blunt, soft-yet-hard tip of Dean’s cock came to rest against Castiel’s slickened hole, smearing Castiel with pre-come that he could incongruously feel despite the lubricant coating him. Even as Castiel bucked into the contact, a hand gripped his hips powerfully, forcing him to stillness.

“...fill me...”

“Holy _fuck_ , Cas,” Dean groaned. Fingers breached Castiel again, opening him for the large cock, and Dean was entering him, spreading him, pushing into him like silken fire. Castiel’s muscles strained in protest, and Dean stopped with a pitiful moan, waiting with desperate pants.

“...have to...relax...Dean’s going to...”

The small intrusion was a frantic reminder of how much was yet to come, yearning thrumming through Castiel irrepressibly. Reaching forward, he grabbed Dean’s hips and gently, urgently prompted him to continue. Infinitesimally, Dean pushed further in, wordless groans forced from his lips at Castiel’s tightness and heat around him. It felt like it took forever, endless intrusion, endless clenching and unclenching, constantly urging desperate muscles to ease, and then suddenly Castiel felt the fabric of Dean’s pants against his crotch, felt a tweak of pain as a pubic hair snagged in the zipper, felt the heavy weight of Dean’s balls against the cleft of Castiel’s ass. A sob burst from Castiel. “Dean!”

“Fuck yeah, Cas,” growled Dean. Castiel forced his eyes open to see Dean still kneeling between Castiel’s wide-spread legs, his thighs supporting Castiel’s ass, his hands firmly locked onto Castiel’s hips, his head thrown back, his muscled, scarred chest streaked with sweat. Moisture clumped his hair into dark brown tufts, his mouth hung open, his eyes were closed, and his expression was slack with bliss. Experimentally, Castiel clenched slightly, and in a rasped-out voice, Dean moaned. The sound ran through Castiel like an electric charge. Castiel settled his feet on the mattress and pivoted his hips hard, forcing Dean out, then in, maneuvering thick hardness to finally, _finally_ ,slam into Castiel’s prostrate. Castiel ground out a sound of profound satisfaction that drowned out every other noise in the world. Pleasure and need in equal parts swamped his senses, and he raised himself on his elbows.

“Dean,” he snapped. The hunter moaned, shifted within Castiel, moaned again. Castiel’s eyes fluttered, and he struggled to hold still, to hold onto any thoughts beyond _more_ and _now_. “Dean!” Dean’s gorgeous eyes slipped open and he looked down at Castiel, face lost and vulnerable as if he’d never seen the angel before, as if afraid that if he looked, Castiel would disappear. The expression was matched by a tentative stretch of Dean’s soul, reaching out for Castiel’s grace to answer, and there was no way that Castiel couldn’t use his grace to give comfort in response to that forlorn supplication. “Are you alright?” Physically, Dean answered with a frantic little nod; his soul luxuriated under the reassuring glow of Castiel’s eternal grace. “Good.” The only way to get what Castiel really wanted was to ask directly. “Fuck me, Dean.”

With a long, low moan, Dean leaned forward, settled his weight on his arms, drew his hips back, withdrew most of the way and slammed home. Between the lubricant and the accommodating stretch of Castiel’s muscles, movement had finally, mercifully, grown easier. Each thrust brought Dean into vigorous contact with that unspeakable pleasurable place within Castiel. There was nothing left but the need for that feeling to continue, and Castiel surrendered to it completely. His thoughts were white and bright and filled with the coruscating light of Dean’s soul as the righteous man and Castiel both slipped into rapture. Castiel fumbled for his erection, only to have a firm grip knock him away and close over Castiel’s desperate cock. Unable to control himself, Castiel thrust hugely into that grip, nearly ripping Dean from his ass, but Dean managed to ride the movement and maintain his position before sinking deeply into Castiel once more. Harder and harder the thrusts came, indescribable sounds leaking from Dean’s mouth – from Castiel’s mouth – the noises running together and growing indistinguishable and melding into one beautiful chorus of desire and satisfaction, pleasure and mutual appreciation, need and love. Dean’s thrusts grew frantic, the stroke on Castiel’s cock bordered into painfully rough. Sliding back, Castiel swung his legs up to allow Dean greater access, and on the next thrust Dean sank in as deeply as ever he had, and that was all Castiel could take. A cry tore from his lungs, convulsed his hands against the sheets, arched his back from the mattress, and Castiel came over his belly in a surge of grace and pleasure and heat and semen, feeling like his entire body, his entire angelic essence, pulsed out through that release.

“Castiel!” Dean’s voice was a thready whimper, and he sank into Castiel’s heat and came with a stuttering pulse of his hips, slight movements putting ineffable pressure on Castiel’s insides. For an instant, Dean’s soul flickered black, his come filled Castiel, brilliant light flickered out, then returned dimmed with exhaustion and satisfaction. With a groan, Dean rolled to the side, separating their bodies abruptly, collapsing beside Castiel with a bounce of the mattress.

Though waves of rapture yet rocked Castiel in time with the spring of the bed, Castiel was alarmed. He forced himself to turn to Dean, reaching up to frantically finger at Dean’s cheek. “Dean?” Castiel’s voice was all breath, raspy and hoarse. There was no answer save the too-rapid patter of Dean’s heart, the fast pulse of his breaths coming so quickly that Dean was nearly hyperventilating. “Dean, are you alright?” It was impossible to keep fear from his voice. Reaching out with his grace, Castiel tried to figure out what the problem was. Dean’s soul grasped onto the angelic magic like Dean was on the verge of desiccation, drinking deeply, healing the energy expended by their intense love making. Something had caused Dean to drain himself, but Castiel couldn’t imagine what, had noticed nothing, and that frightened him even more.

“Holy shit, Cas,” mumbled Dean. An arm flopped onto Castiel’s side and pulled him close, urging him against Dean, rubbing over-sensitized, pleasure-wracked bodies together, coating them each in the chilling sweat of the other. “That was fucking _amazing_. Remind me why we waited to do that?”

Relief brought back all the forestalled bliss, and Castiel slumped against Dean. Toying with Dean’s hair with one hand, Castiel’s other hand settled on Dean’s waist, and Castiel slipped a leg between Dean’s. “I thought I was clear with you in Oklahoma that I wished this, but you had not initiated, so I was unsure how to proceed.”

Dean laughed, though with his passion-roughened throat it closely resembled a wheeze. “That was fucking _amazing_ ,” he repeated with the precise same inflection. “I’ve joked that my brains came out my dick before, but seriously…”

That was when Castiel felt it, a lingering echo of Dean’s soul. The bulk of that familiar sunlight filled the hunter’s perfect body, suffused his every cell, traced from Dean’s fingers to his nose to his toes to the tip of his dick, rapidly growing limp and retreating within the fabric of Dean’s boxers. However, there was a repeat of that soul, a reverberation, an answering pulse, and it was coming from within Castiel.

Dean’s soul was so desperate for contact with Castiel that it had reached to him from across the world, so desperate that it had torn itself asunder to inject a piece of itself into Castiel along with Dean’s release. That fragment swirled through Castiel’s grace, trailed through it like fire and ice, burst and scattered like fireworks. A small part of Dean was now a part of Castiel’s grace, as a part of Castiel’s grace had been a part of Dean ever since Dean was resurrected from Hell.

For the first time, Castiel wondered if he’d risked too much by pursuing a relationship with Dean. For the first time, Castiel was frightened of what might happen if they continued. For the first time, Castiel feared for Dean’s safety, castigated himself for not considering the full ramifications of he, as an angel, pursuing mutual affection with a human. All the rules of Heaven and Earth forbade the merging of human souls and angelic grace, yet just now, Dean had very nearly joined them accidentally in the throes of passion. It couldn’t have happened without Castiel’s grace inadvertently helping, could not happen unless Castiel’s grace provided the magical fuel to facilitate it. That could never be allowed to take place .

Shivering due to more than the cool of drying sweat, Castiel burrowed closer to Dean and tried to lose himself in the sound of Dean’s steady breathing, the unspoken affection evident in the brush of Dean’s fingers over his skin. He tried to push away the terror pulling at his heart, warning him that such a mistake could never be repeated. Dean had to be protected at all costs, even at the loss of his affections. Castiel would end their relationship before he’d risk Dean’s immortal soul. Castiel loved Dean far too much to violate Dean’s autonomy further.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asked quietly.

Unable to reply honestly, Castiel countered with a question of his own. “What were you thinking about in the bathroom?” That was what had started all of this, the unknown train of thought that had caused Dean to need Castiel so urgently that Castiel heard Dean from around the world.

Dean’s hand froze mid-caress. There was a long, awkward pause. “You. Us.” Castiel waited patiently for Dean to continue, but no further words came. Instead, Dean grabbed the blanket and rolled over so he was facing Castiel, bringing their chests together and dragging the fabric over their bare bodies. Dean’s arms wrapped tenderly around Castiel’s body, his still-clothed leg came to rest between Castiel’s, and he released a long, slow sigh that seemed to meld their bodies together. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Castiel asked, confused.

“For never giving up on me,” whispered Dean, so softly that Castiel wasn’t sure the hunter had meant to speak the words aloud.

Tucking his head beneath Dean’s chin, threading his arms around his wonderfully muscled back, Castiel attempted to reinforce the aching soul that drew him like no other. His grace whispered a plea to help Dean, to heal him, and Castiel repressed a shudder at how very tempting he found the prospect. Castiel had to pull himself back, put some distance between himself and Dean, no matter the personal cost. The thought was painful, and Castiel felt the weakness in himself, the urge to put his own desires above Dean’s immortal soul. Horrified at himself for even considering it, Castiel sent a silent prayer to Heaven.

_Father, wherever you may be, please grant me the strength to protect Dean from anything that endangers him, even if the greatest threat he faces is myself._

There was a knock on the door, followed by Sam’s voice. “Dean, you want to grab dinner? We can talk about what I found at the library...”

“No, Sammy,” Dean answered gruffly. “I’m fine right here.” His arms compressed as if he were afraid Castiel might vanish from his arms, and Castiel sighed and released his tension. He could do this. He could hold himself back. He had to. The alternative was to lose Dean completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo...when I finished "An Assembly Such As This," I promised I'd have this story up by Saturday, and another after that. And I would have, I totally would have, except...this wasn't that story. I had a whole outline for the "next" "I Dream of Deanie" story...and this one happened instead.
> 
> The one that I THOUGHT was going to be the fourth story...will now be the fifth story. And the story I was going to have posted after that - which is already written - has been bumped back again. But soon, I hope - the next few days, if I have my way. 
> 
> Also...there are hints of a plot. But, it's a porny plot. So that's okay, right? :)
> 
> On June 5th, 2015, I went through and cleaned up some little editing things. Ping me if you see any more mistakes. :)
> 
> Now continued in Part 5, "This Story is Definitely Not About a Date."


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